What do I call you?

What do I call you?

You, bunched together in the shade of the bright spring sun. 

How can I address each of you, each one beautiful. 

There are flocks of birds and schools of fish, but what can be said about the blooms and petals?

Shall I call you a family? Sisters and brothers alike. Or shall I call you a band, linked in your endeavors of colors and aromatic scents. 

Perhaps I shall call you Legion. For you all are one in captivation and emotion. Inspiring a passerby like the bee drawn to nectar. 

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The Touch of Skin to Bark

A series of peaks and valleys.

Old scars from unnecessary accidents, and a subtle joy that some evidence remains.

The sensation that defines reality, able to feel life’s weight, and warmth, and warnings.

Upon this bark lies the stories of the past.

Etched words to remember, and a subtle pain that the moment is over.

Fleeting memories that will be forever marked in each chip, and crack, and curve.

There is beauty in a sharp edge

There is beauty in a sharp edge,

A force of subtle danger that is also poised and controlled.

In the needle there is protection,

For the wilds of the world are fearsome.

So take pride in your needles that keep the sharp teeth at bay,

Always there is life worth protecting, draw forth now your sharpened swords.

The Arrival

I am here! I am new! I am alive! 

I am spring, and I am the color of new born green and yellow and blue. 

I am that laughter that erupts from your lips, having tasted the first fruit of the season and the tickles of fresh grass on your bare skin. 

Be merry in the sounds that buzz, and babble, and sing. 

Grow in happiness as the flower does on the hillside and bask in the warmth that is Spring. 

A rose given is a heart received. 

A rose given is a heart received. 

Presented with a blossom of purest devotion, and smelling of the sweet aroma of romance. 

Yet always still a flower of the earth. Made of delicate petals that will droop, and wrinkle, and fall away. 

Knowing the fragility of its own beauty, it covers itself with thorns and tells all to stay away. 

Yet a rose appreciated yields a moment of love. 

And in that moment a flower blossoms into an emotion while its roots dig ever deeper into our hearts. 

Bare bones

Would you love me still, if all my leaves have fallen away?

If my green splendor was removed and you saw me only with bare bones. 

What would you say to me then?

 I shiver in the fear of your voice, telling me an answer I hope never to hear. 

That my barriers have been stripped away and what is left of me is only sticks. 

 And in a snap you could end me. 

But your answer is soft. It touches me like the sun on the bare limbs of a tree in winter.

 It warms and it encourages. 

“You are the spring.” You whisper, and in response my heart blossoms. 

Split

I found a plain split in two,

On one side it was green, and on the other it was blue.

A strange sense of longing was then set.

Like land meeting the sea,

the two halves sung out to me.

I wondered what color would form if ever the two sides met.

If they could come together as one,

as the horizon does each day with the sun,

Would they transform into something new?

I can only imagine the impossibility,

of these two lawns trapped in immobility,

Forever being only the colors of green and blue.

 

The sound of summer

Laughter, music, and the buzzing of bugs exploded in at once between my ears.

Groomed lawns, every blade of green in order, matched the haircuts of military men spending their Sunday smiling.

The sun was warm and the wind was soft. The sky was open and the ocean water inviting.

There as I walked by I saw the sound of summerThe sound of summer.

Rich in its voice of splendor. In my mouth I could almost taste sweet syrup, a flavor artificial to nature but original to my childhood.

Laughter, music, and the buzzing of bugs exploded in at once between my ears.

I finally left the moment behind, looking back at a flower like the setting sun in summer.